


A Bit Too Familiar

by Salambo06



Series: Open up my eyes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Mrs. Turners married ones - Freeform, Oblivious John, post-series 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4626240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mrs. Turner's 'married ones' come to dinner at 221B, John must face some serious revelations about his relationship with Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit Too Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to [ Candice](http://giddystars.tumblr.com/) for her comments, encouragement, and amazing work as a beta!
> 
> [ My Tumblr.](http://letthechoirsing.tumblr.com/)

“John, Lestrade just called! We have a case!”

“Nice try,” John smiles as he joins Sherlock by the sofa, taking the coat off the man’s hand, “But Lestrade promised me he wouldn’t call tonight.”

“But what if a serial killer decides to strike tonight, John?” Sherlock protests but John ignores him as he hangs up the Belstaff. He is not about to let Sherlock ruin this evening for them, no matter how hard his flatmate tries. John will have to be extra careful and keep a sharp eye on Sherlock. He knows only too well that Sherlock can find a dozen ways to escape the flat without John noticing.

“You agreed to this, remember?” John reminds him as he goes back to the kitchen.

Sherlock remains standing in front of the door for a moment. John sees him eyeing at his coat again, probably considering his options, but Sherlock sighs and comes to join him, a pained look on his face.

“I don’t even recall you asking me about it!” Sherlock complains. He sits at the table and begins to pick at the appetisers John has prepared.

“You’ll think twice now before answering my questions while you’re in your Mind Palace.”

John moves the appetisers away from Sherlock’s hands, but Sherlock snatches them back with a glare. John shakes his head and turns back to the sink. He doesn’t complain because Sherlock is eating and if John stops him now he will remind John of it the next time he tries to get Sherlock to eat a proper meal.

“It’s an automatic response, John.” Sherlock stands up and leans against the counter, peeking at what John is doing, “You’re the one complaining when I don’t listen to what you’re saying!”

“I usually can tell when you’re lost in here,” John remarks as he taps his finger against Sherlock’s forehead, “And I know talking to you then isn’t an option. But sometimes I can’t really tell if you’re thinking, or just ignoring me completely.”

“Why would I ignore you, John?” Sherlock answers in the tone he uses when he thinks John is being an idiot.  
John consciously ignores the way Sherlock’s words make his stomach flutter. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I want you to clean the kitchen table, or help me with the groceries?” he asks, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

“Those are dreadful demands John.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and John imitates him. He knows Sherlock doesn’t want to have their neighbours over for dinner, but James and Arthur had agreed to this evening months ago. John can’t cancel it now, and certainly not because Sherlock Holmes thinks he’s a “high-functioning sociopath” who can’t handle a dinner with other people.

“To you maybe!” John retorts. He adds some salt to the dishes he’s spent the entire afternoon preparing and holds the spoon up to a frowning Sherlock. “Is this alright?”

“How should I know?”

“Just taste it, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sighs before opening his mouth and taking a bite of the roasted fish. John moves the spoon away and waits for Sherlock to swallow. Even though Sherlock rarely eats John knows that Sherlock likes it when he cooks for them.

“It’s really good,” says Sherlock, his voice low as he licks his lower lip to catch a drop of sauce.

Following the movement of Sherlock’s tongue John realises how close Sherlock is standing. His elbow pokes into John’s chest as he shifts to take the spoon out of John’s hand. Sherlock’s eyes don’t leave his as he puts it back on the counter. John’s breathing has stopped completely, his mouth slightly open as he stares back at Sherlock. He can feel the warmth from Sherlock’s body and a pleasant shiver runs through him. He hopes Sherlock doesn’t notice, it will only feed Sherlock’s obsession with John’s every reaction.

It’s not as if they’ve never shared long stares before, sometimes standing even closer than they are right now. John had stopped counting them before Sherlock’s fake death. He even waited for them, for those moments when the world around them seemed to disappear. Sherlock’s been able to make John forget what he’s saying or even thinking since the very first day, and John’s accepted it a long time ago. Apparently, spending two years away from each other hasn’t changed any of it.

The loud chime of the doorbell startles John but Sherlock doesn’t move at all, his eyes still locked on him. John takes a small breath, his lungs coming alive again. Sherlock smiles gently and John looks away. He quickly checks the fish one last time, and walks to the stairs while Sherlock moves to sit in his chair, getting ready to ignore anyone who enters the flat.

“I’m warning you, Sherlock,” John says sternly, “If you spend the evening sulking, I will make sure that Lestrade doesn’t call us for an entire month!”

“John!” Sherlock grouses petulantly but John is already downstairs and Sherlock can hear him greeting James and Arthur at the door and welcoming them in.

“Hello John, we brought wine.”

“Perfect,” John smiles as he takes the bottle from Arthur’s hand. “Sherlock’s upstairs.”

John points to the flat, letting the two men pass before him. He’d only met the famous Mrs. Tuner’s ‘married ones’ after he moved back into 221B six months ago. He had popped into Mrs. Hudson’s flat one afternoon to ask about some things he had left behind when he’d moved out and was introduced to James and Arthur who were there for tea. Of course, Mrs. Hudson had told John about them countless times, and John hadn’t missed her calculating gaze when she insisted he join them for a bit. Two cups of tea and five biscuits later John had invited the two men for dinner at 211B. This, however, was easier said than done. Twice they had made plans and both times John and Sherlock were called away on cases so John was forced to reschedule. And now, months later, Arthur and James were finally here for the evening.

John is pleasantly surprised to see Sherlock standing at the doorway when they enter the flat, but sighs when he notices him deducing their guests. John glares at him, a silent command to keep his deductions to himself this evening. But Sherlock only smirks; a little smile on his lips which tells John that Sherlock plans to do exactly as he pleases since he has been forced to endure this torture that is dinner with people he doesn’t know or even care about. As soon as everyone is ushered in, John does the introductions. One look at Sherlock and John knows that he’s already deleted their guests’ names.

“Sherlock, it’s nice to finally meet you,” James says holding out his hand to Sherlock, but Sherlock keeps his arms behind his back, his eyes moving from one man to the other.

“The wine won’t go well with tonight’s meal,” Sherlock says wryly before going to sit on the sofa.

John shakes his head cutting off the apology he sees forming on Arthur’s lips, “Don’t mind him. The wine is perfect.”

“You can always keep it for another dinner,” James suggests. John takes both of their coats and gestures for them so sit down.

“We’ll drink it tonight,” he says, “I’ll go get the appetiser.” He throws one last pointed look at Sherlock before heading to the kitchen. He doesn’t hear any horrified screams as he puts the appetiser on a plate, and John can’t help but think this is a good start. Sherlock might just be well-behaved the entire evening, or at least, as well-behaved as Sherlock can be.

“Shall I open the wine?” John asks as he returns with the appetiser, none of the three men have moved since he left.

Sherlock’s already opening his mouth to object but shuts his mouth when John throws a sharp look his way. Sherlock shrugs, sitting back on the sofa, clearly offended but he doesn’t say anything. John goes to sit beside him, Arthur and James having chosen the chairs on the opposite side of the table.

“Excellent idea,” James answers, a polite smile on his lips.

“It’s really nice of the two of you to have invited us over tonight,” Arthurs says as John pours the last glass of wine.

“I haven’t invit-”

“We should have done this a long time ago,” John interrupts before Sherlock can finish, “We've been living next to each other for years now.”

“Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Hudson talk about you every time we invite them over,” James jokes, Arthur looking at him with a fond smile.

“John and I are the only thing Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Turner ever talk about,” Sherlock mutters biting down on one of the appetisers. He grimaces a little. John frowns a bit at that but Sherlock takes another one and he can’t help but smile. Seeing Sherlock eat the food he’s prepared always makes him feel a bit proud.

“How long have you been living in Baker Street?” John inquires, ignoring Sherlock’s last comment completely. James and Arthur imitate him after a moment, apparently still not sure how to respond to anything that comes out of Sherlock’s mouth.

“Seven years now,” Arthur answers as Sherlock glances at John, his eyes mocking _really John, small talk now?_

“We both lived in different flats before,” continues James, “Till we realised it was time for us to live together now.”

“You didn’t want to move in together at that time,” Sherlock deduces, his eyes fixed on Arthur. John scowls at him but Sherlock just looks back at him with innocent eyes. “I’m simply stating the facts, John.”

“Why don’t you keep the _facts_ to yourself tonight?” John warns before looking back at their guests with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, we heard about Sherlock Holmes and his abilities.”

“It’s quite impressive actually!” James compliments, looking directly at a still bored Sherlock. But Sherlock’s prickly attitude doesn’t seem to dissuade James anymore, and he adds quickly, “I read both of your blogs regularly.”

This time Sherlock shifts on the sofa, straightening his posture. John smiles lightly; there is nothing like complementing his blog for Sherlock to take an interest in the conversation. While John’s blog has quite a lot of readers and comments, Sherlock’s doesn’t attract a lot of people. John once tried explaining to him that the contents of his blog were a bit too scientific for most people. But that only resulted in Sherlock ranting about the idiocy of ‘most people’ and followed that up by sulking the rest of the day.

“You read Sherlock’s blog?” John asks, not quite believing that they’ve just met someone who takes an actual interest in whatever Sherlock writes on that blog of his.

“Oh yes, he does,” says Arthur with a fond smile, “He spends too much time on that computer if you ask me.”

James rolls his eyes but looks affectionately at his partner. John looks away feeling like he is intruding on a tender moment between them. The two men gaze at each other for another second, before James breaks the contact, only to turn a bit more on his chair so he can face Sherlock properly.

“I’m an undertaker,” he explains barely hiding the excitment in his voice, “And your notes on the decomposition of bodies help me a lot.”

“An undertaker?” Sherlock repeats, now sitting on the edge of the sofa. His eyes are scanning James, and John knows that his flatmate had finally decided to take a proper look at their guest. “Seven years in the same funeral home, working alone on the bodies most of the time. You see around three bodies a day but when the skin or body is badly damaged you only handle one.”

James nods enthusiastically, pleased to have found a way to catch Sherlock’s attention, “Yes.”

Arthur is smiling beside him, leaning towards John before saying “If he starts talking about his work, we’ll be stuck here for a long time.”

“You have access to multiples bodies, and no one to care about what happens to them,” declares Sherlock, seeing the potential to make use of their neighbor. John doesn’t have to think too hard to know what Sherlock’s contemplating, his best friend’s interest in dead bodies is always growing.

John sees a small frown crease James’ forehead, but Sherlock is clearly wrapped up in the conversation now. James decides to ignore whatever Sherlock may be implying and nods with excitement. John sips his wine and leans back into the sofa, listening as Sherlock and James discuss the rate of skin decomposition, and how to prevent further damage.

“I’ll go warm up the dinner,” John says almost an hour later, finishing his second glass of wine.

Arthur follows him into the kitchen continuing the chitchat they were already engaged in while Sherlock and James were immersed in a discussion about corpses, decomposition and embalming techniques. James and Sherlock are so engrossed in their conversation that they don’t notice John setting the table. They have now taken John’s computer and James is explaining in great detail how to sew skin without leaving a single trace. John has only seen Sherlock listening that closely to someone when he’s storing every word in his mind palace. Sherlock always finds new knowledge exciting and John is aware that being familiar with the art of sewing a body may prove useful in a future case. He can hear Sherlock occasionally correct some of James’ explanations with something resembling tact. Interestingly, James doesn’t seem to mind, apologizing while taking note of Sherlock’s remarks.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard so much about dead bodies,” says Arthur. “I never thought James would find someone to talk to about his job.”

“You can always count on Sherlock to be interested when it concerns dead bodies,” John says, a smile lighting up his face as he quickly looks back at Sherlock.

“I guess you guys see a lot of them,” Arthurs remarks.

John nods his agreement. Of course they can’t always solve the case, and even if John’s seen lots of dead bodies, too many in fact, during his time in Afghanistan, it still triggers him sometimes. He is plagued by nightmares when he returns from such cases. But now Sherlock is here again playing soothing melodies on his violin, which lull John back to sleep on the nights he is harshly woken by his nightmares. John doesn’t want to remember the nights he woke up gasping and panting from a nightmare, his skin on fire, only to find Mary lying beside him and a flat that was too quiet.

“Sorry, I made you uncomfortable.”

Arthur’s voice brings John back to the present, and he turns back to the hob.

“No, it’s nothing. You never quite get used to seeing corpses, that’s all.”

Arthur nods, not dwelling on the subject. He looks around the kitchen, his eyes stopping on the notes Sherlock’s left on some cupboards warning John about the things he might find inside.

“Are there really fingers in there?” he asks, pointing to one of the oldest notes.

“Probably, I don’t open them if I don’t absolutely have to!”

Arthur laughs, moving around the kitchen. He stops to look at James and Sherlock who are now searching through some books, “I’m glad James found someone to share his interest with. It’s rare for us to find another couple who doesn’t find his job scary or strange.”

John stills in the middle of the kitchen, the pan in his hands, “Uh, we’re not a couple.”

Arthur looks back at him, his eyes wide, “Oh I’m sorry! It’s just that -” He stops, staring at John for a second, “Never mind. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, again.”

“Don’t worry, most people think we are anyway.” Arthur is still smiling, but his smile is almost sad and apologetic. John looks away, “Why don’t you sit, I’ll go get them.”

Sherlock’s head snaps up for a second when John arrives, his lips stretching into the private smile John always gets for no apparent reason, or at least no reason that John knows of. James doesn’t look away from the book he’s reading, occasionally writing down some of Sherlock’s comments.

“Dinner is ready,” John announces but neither of them respond. “Sherlock!”

“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock replies.

“I don’t care, we have guests, and you’ll come sit with us even if you don’t touch a thing on your plate.”

“Is this another one of those inane social niceties you like to follow?” Sherlock grumbles, clearly not wanting to comply. John shrugs, nodding towards the kitchen. Sherlock can figure out the answer to that question himself.

“James,” comes Arthur’s voice as he steps closer to his partner, one of his hands now on James’ lower back, “Dinner.”

“Oh yes, sorry.”

Sherlock watches James stand up and go to the table, and he sighs before following. He scowls at John when he passes by to him, their bodies brushing. “Don’t give me that look,” says John, “I know you’re enjoying this evening.”

“I’m only here because of your little threat,” Sherlock reminds him but John can see him smiling.

“Go sit down.”  
John knows Sherlock hates it when they have guests over. To be honest, Sherlock hates it whenever people comes by the flat at all. They don’t have many friends, and Sherlock always complains when John invites Greg or Molly over. Before Sherlock “death”, they spent most of their evenings together, just the two of them sitting by the fire or watching telly. And John won’t lie, he loves those kinds of evenings. He longed for them back then. But living with Mary meant having friends coming over for dinner almost every weekend. John is not sure now if all those people were really Mary’s friends, but at least they kept the flat from being too quiet.

In the end, moving back with Sherlock after two years apart hasn’t changed a lot of things. It had been difficult at first, the whole debacle with Mary and Moriarty’s fake return had complicated their damaged relationship. But they had found their way back together, and now things were as normal as possible, considering John was living with Sherlock Holmes. John had made it clear from the start: this was the beginning of a new life, the last two years forgotten. And if it means making new friends, then John is ready to annoy Sherlock with multiple dinners if he needs too.

When John finally sits down, James is still talking about a corpse he has been working on for the past few days. Sherlock is listening carefully and John pokes him in the knee to let him know he was right. Sherlock is enjoying this evening even more than John.

“James, maybe we could talk about something else now, don’t you think?” Arthur suggests after a few minutes.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself when it concerns my work,” James takes a bite of his fish and smiles at John, “This is really good.”

“My ex-wife taught me how to make it.”

John regrets his words as soon as he sees James and Arthur’s eyes widening. No one speaks for a minute, Sherlock plays with his food, his eyes fixed on his plate. John can’t believe he’s just mentioned Mary.

“I didn’t know you were married,” James finally says, “I always though you two were -”

Arthur cuts him off with a pointed look, shaking his head slightly but John notices it anyway. He tightens his grip on his fork and lets out a long breath. He wants to look at Sherlock, make sure he’s all right. Sherlock knows how much John hates to talk about his life with Mary, and is usually quick to change the subject. His silence worries John more than he cares to admit.

“I didn’t stay married for long,” John replies, his eyes avoiding his guests, “It was when Sherlock was gone.”

James and Arthur are certainly aware of Sherlock’s fake death, and none of them comment on it. John hears James clear his throat, sees Arthur shifting in his chair but Sherlock is still not reacting. John glances at him discreetly. Sherlock seems lost in his thoughts, and John wonders what he might be thinking about. They’ve never really talked about the years they spent apart. John’s aware of what Sherlock had been doing at the time, but only because Mycroft had filled him in. Sherlock never broached the subject with him, and John doesn’t know how to ask. He wants to, of course. He’s dying to know about the months Sherlock spent alone, tracking down Moriarty’s men. He wants to hear about the times Sherlock thought he was going to die, and if he considered coming back at all. What kind of things he had to do back there, does he have any regrets, any scars.

“We once had to find a murderer who left dead fish with the bodies,” Sherlock says dispelling the awkward silence that has filled the kitchen and John sighs with relief.

James and Arthur turn towards him enthusiastically, eager to put behind the last five minutes. John feels Sherlock’s leg brush against his under the table and the contact reassures him. The rest of dinner is spent talking about old cases, Sherlock is clearly delighted to recount his more dangerous and difficult ones. John answers some of their guests’ questions, letting Sherlock delve into the details of the methods used to come to his solutions. James interrupts him frequently to ask about specifics concerning the corpses, while Arthur spends the entire dinner smiling at the enthusiasm he hears in his partner’s voice. John notices Arthur rest his hand on James’ thigh at one point and it remains there till they move to the living room.

James and Sherlock are out of the kitchen in the blink of an eye once dinner is over, while Arthur stays back to help John bring out the four cups of tea. John places Sherlock’s cup on the table in front of him before settling into his chair and Arthur makes his way towards James, deftly weaving past the stacks of books on the floor. John watches as Arthur leans in to put the cup on the table, his chest brushing against his partner’s back in what is undoubtedly a habitual gesture.

It hits John like a punch in the face.

The hand holding his cup is trembling, and John puts it on the table next to him. He can feel his heartbeat quickening as he leans back into his chair, both of his hands now shaking. His eyes are still fixed on Arthur and James, but all John can see is himself doing exactly the same thing every time he has handed Sherlock his tea. John can’t count the number of times he’s leaned against Sherlock’s back like that, his nose almost buried in Sherlock’s curls as he passed him his tea.

John glances at Sherlock, his breath coming in short bursts, but Sherlock is lost in some book. The evening plays back in John’s mind. He sees Arthur’s fond smile when James talks about his work, the long gaze they exchange, and even the hand Arthur placed on James’s lower back earlier. How many times did John feel Sherlock’s hand on his back?

John closes his eyes. He’s watched their neighbours all evening, acting as the couple they are and only now does John understand why people always seem to think Sherlock and he are dating. Are they really that obvious?

“John, is everything all right?” Arthurs inquires, sitting down in Sherlock’s chair.

John only nods and looks away. He can’t face Arthur now, not when he’s finally realising he has been dating Sherlock since the very beginning. It’s no wonder that John’s never had a girlfriend for longer than two weeks. Sherlock has always taken up too much of his time, too much space. And John let it happen, he’d wanted to be the center of Sherlock’s world since Sherlock had become his. God, how long have I been in love with him?

“Do you mind?” Arthur asks pointing to the newspaper, and John shakes his head. At least Arthur will be too busy to notice John’s panicked state.

John closes his eyes again after making sure that Sherlock is not looking. He needs to focus. Strangely, realising he’s been in love with Sherlock for years doesn’t feel like the huge reveal it should be. John knows Sherlock has always held a special place in his life, he’s never had such a connection with anyone before. John had discovered his bisexuality while he was in Uni and had come to terms with it since. And bloody hell, of course he had noticed how gorgeous Sherlock was that very first night. John isn’t blind. But Sherlock had shot down John’s awkward advances at Angelo’s, and John did not try to flirt with him after that.

“I think it’s time for us to head home,” Arthur says, stirring John from his thoughts. James is no longer reading but sitting right next to his partner. John feels guilty for inadvertently ignoring them, but Arthurs is smiling as he stands up.

“Thanks again for tonight,” says James, and John notices his hand in Arthur’s hair. He stares at it for a moment, suddenly wondering what Sherlock’s curls would feel like under his fingers.

When the two men stand up, John accompanies them to the door. Sherlock is still lost in his reading, and he doesn’t moves when James bids him goodbye. They leaves 221B after making sure that John and Sherlock will visit them soon. John makes quick promises and closes the door quietly. He rests his head against it and takes some time to gather his thoughts before climbing the stairs. Sherlock has moved to his chair and is now staring at John’s empty chair.

John considers going to sit down but immediately decides against it. Sherlock will read into him in two seconds and John is not sure he’s ready to face him tonight. Instead John chooses to occupy himself with cleaning the dishes, and tries not to think too much about tonight’s revelations. He will need a few days to decide what he’s going to do. He can’t ignore the things he’s discovered both about himself and about his relationship with Sherlock. And he definitely can’t suppress any of it. He’s already spent years denying that Sherlock was anything more than a friend without even realising it. Now is not the moment to start doing it on purpose. Maybe Sherlock would be open to a conversation about it whenever John is ready. Wait, this is Sherlock you’re talking about. He must have realised it ages ago!

John lets go of the plate he’s cleaning, and closes his eyes again. Has Sherlock kept his deductions to himself all this time? John turns off the tap and leaves the kitchen. He’ll deal with the dishes tomorrow.

“Well then, I’m going to bed,” he announces without looking at Sherlock, “Good night.”

“Tell me you noticed, John.”

Sherlock’s voice is only a whisper in the quiet flat, and John stops, turning to face him. But Sherlock is still staring at John’s empty chair. “What?”

Sherlock stands up abruptly, walks slowly towards John. His eyes search John’s face, a determination in them that scares John a little. “Sherlock?”

“Tell me you noticed.”

John can hear the edge of desperation in Sherlock’s voice now, and he needs to steady himself. Sherlock is close now and John’s breath hitches. Sherlock stops centimeters away from him, and stares at him in silence. John forces himself to control his breathing, and he gets ready to face anything Sherlock plans on doing. He won’t back out, he’ll let Sherlock do whatever he wants. John has never learnt to say “no” to him all this time, and he won’t begin tonight, not when he’s made them wait for so long.

“I’ve noticed.”

John’s declaration remains unanswered for a second, Sherlock’s eyes still searching his face. Then Sherlock leans in and John loses track of his breathing for the third time this evening. Sherlock’s mouth is still against his, their noses bumping against each other. Sherlock lets out a hot breath through it, and John tilts his head a little. He feels Sherlock smiling, and then Sherlock’s hands are on his neck and back, bringing their bodies ever closer.

John realizes that Sherlock’s body is so very alive and that nothing has ever felt more right than Sherlock’s lips pressed against his.

“I’ve noticed,” John repeats when they break apart, Sherlock’s mouth now leaving small wet kisses along his jaw. John can feel Sherlock’s hands all over his body, fingers threading through his hair, tugging at his shirt, grazing his arse. It seems to John that Sherlock is trying to touch every part of John’s body at the same time, the urgency in his movements makes John shiver. He has never felt so desired, and he doesn’t want Sherlock to ever let go.

Sherlock nips lightly at John’s earlobe, and John circles Sherlock’s waist with his arms. He tilts his head back and Sherlock’s lips are immediately at his neck and John is not sure they will ever leave the living room again. “We can stay here forever,” he thinks as Sherlock’s lips devours him without mercy. John lets out a soft moan when Sherlock licks his pulse point, and as if Sherlock was waiting for it, he attacks John’s mouth again. John tugs on Sherlock’s curls to let this mad genius know he needs more, and Sherlock’s tongue invades his mouth.

“Sherlock,” John gasps, his lungs on fire, when Sherlock finally lets him take a breath.

Sherlock’s eyes are darker than ever, and John is certain he’s never been so turned on from only snogging. He lets his thumbs caress Sherlock’s cheek, “I’m an idiot.”

Sherlock shakes his head at John’s words, his hand on John’s back tugging at John’s shirt more firmly. “Never an idiot, just not very observant.”

“A bit of snogging and I get compliments!” laughs John, not quite believing that he has just kissed Sherlock Holmes. He slides his lips against Sherlock’s once more, just because he can, and Sherlock melts into his arms. “I’ll try to pay more attention now.”

“Oh, I intend to ensure that you don’t miss any clues from now on!” Sherlock thrusts his hips just enough for John to feel the bulge in his trouser. If John was already half hard from the snogging, then Sherlock’s teasing caress directs all the blood in John’s body to his cock.

“Yes, clues,” John murmurs, not sure his words make any sense. Sherlock’s still thrusting lightly against him, and John knows they need to move before his legs buckle. He would never have guessed that Sherlock would be so direct, so sure of himself in this situation. He can still remember Mycroft’s words at Buckingham Palace, yet everything about Sherlock is screaming lust and pure want right now.

“I’m going to take you to bed, John,” Sherlock growls in his ears, his breath caressing John’s skin.

And John is only able to moan in respond, his legs moving without his own will towards Sherlock’s bedroom. Sherlock supports most of his weight, and John doesn’t realise they’re inside the room until Sherlock lets him fall on the bed.

“Still think this evening was a bad idea?” whispers John as Sherlock stares at him splayed on the sheets. Sherlock is slowly undoing his buttons and John licks his lips, smirking when he sees Sherlock shiver.

“Oh John,” Sherlock purrs, his shirt now on the floor, a frisson rippling through John, “You always have the brightest ideas.”

John laughs, and he knows he needs to remember Sherlock’s words for the next time the man complains about John’s decisions, but Sherlock climbs on the bed and John loses track of everything else. He lets Sherlock undress him, kiss him in places no one ever paid any attention to before, and John wonders what he did to deserve so much. He shivers and writhes as Sherlock ravishes him, his tongue on John’s most intimate parts, his nails leaving marks that John wishes will never fade.

Johns knows he’s murmuring nonsense, but he can’t help himself. This is all too much, too overwhelming. Sherlock above him, surrounding him completely, and John feels his world explode when he enters Sherlock’s tight heat. After that John can only focus on Sherlock riding him in slow movements, a sweet torture John thinks will surely kill him. Sherlock’s hands are splayed on his chest, his fingers digging into John’s flesh as Sherlock throws his head back, moaning loudly. John can’t take his eyes off him, holding him by the waist, his hands helping Sherlock’s now erratic movements.

“John!”

Later, when John can feel Sherlock breathing heavily against his neck, his body limp against him, John sighs in contentment and holds Sherlock tighter. He swears to never let go.


End file.
